A Privilege
by Elizabeth Arian
Summary: Irene Adler has returned and it's Holmes she needs to save her...COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_This story follows on from Loss, you don't necessarily have to have read that before this but it might help :) Hope you enjoy it anyway, as always let me know! And as always, I own none of the characters here…they all belong to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle- Music97 xx_

**A Privilege.**

**Chapter One.**

Holmes was anxious to return to the place he had left Irene. It had bothered him since the day he had returned to Baker Street, that place was not fit for rats to live in, let alone a woman of her standing. He raced through the London streets in the first cab he could find, the cabby obviously unaccustomed to taking such a well-dressed gentleman to such questionable parts of town. Eventually, after what had seemed like an eternity Holmes reached the east end, which to him always seemed dark and mysterious even on the brightest of days. He shuddered as the cab rattled away and he was left alone. He glanced over to the derelict pub where he had first seen her after so many years and so many tragedies had separated them. He glanced nostalgically at it for a few moments before spinning on his heels and retracing his steps to Irene's last place of residence.

The door was ajar and the windows of the bottom floor of the appalling house blew open. Holmes approached slowly and gently pushed the door, his feet treading silently over the threadbare carpet. He approached Irene's door and paused, he was almost afraid to enter, scared of finding Irene's lifeless body before him. He could not bare the thought. He drew a deep breath and pushed the door open, it resisted him, he pushed harder and it gave way practically throwing him into the room beyond. As he regained his balance, his eyes focused on a huddled lump in the corner of the room. He approached it with caution, not wanting to be surprised by some vagrant animal that had wandered in during the night. He bent over it and pulled away a part of the rag that covered it. He gasped and his eyes momentarily filled with tears as he recognised the dishevelled features of the only woman his broken heart would ever love. He picked up her slender body and held her close to him, he could feel soft wisps of breath against his body and he sighed with relief, she was not dead. He rushed out into the open air and found again the cab that had brought him to this evil place. He glanced up speechless at the cabby.

"Well Sir, I dain't want to leave you 'ere. Not the likes of you, a gentleman like you ain't got no business in the east end unless it were trouble like, so I thought you might need a quick getaway so to speak, an' by the looks of the lady I was right to wait warn I?"

Holmes smiled at the man, who suddenly looked like he had been sent from heaven,

"Thank you." Was all Holmes could think of to say, he leaped into the cab, pulling Irene across his lap and gave the man directions to Watson's surgery.

Watson was busy with a particularly troublesome patient, the man insisted he was dying when Watson could find no discernable illness; he was in the middle of ushering the man out of the room while promising faithfully that all was well, when his maid appeared at the door, blushing and fidgeting. Watson raised an eyebrow at her, while pushing the man out with one hand and Hattie, his maid, in with the other. He let his hand remain on the girl's shoulder.

"What is it Hattie?" His voice was gentle and he felt the girl relax under his grasp.

"It's Mr. Holmes Sir. He's in the waiting room carrying an awful looking lady in his arms, saying he must see you immediately, it's causing an awful fuss Sir." Her eyes took on a pleading quality, willing the doctor to help. As always he rose to the occasion,

"Alright, you can show him in, thank you Hattie. Oh. And Hattie," the girl paused at the door, "Don't let him bully you."

Hattie smiled, gave a quick curtsey and rushed back into the waiting room, within minutes Holmes was standing before Watson with the woman, looking more desperate than Watson had ever seen him.

"It's her Watson." His voice was strained and his breathing was coming in short, sharp gasps. Watson approached him and gently took the woman from him, Holmes looked into his friend's eyes and he reluctantly gave her up to him. Watson placed her on his examining table and gasped when the features of the woman's face registered in his memory.

"Oh my Lord, it's Irene Adler!"

"Watson. Please." Holmes' voice was urgent at Watson's side. Watson looked at his friend and for the first time in his life felt pity for him. He placed two fingers on the side of Irene's neck and pressed, her pulse was slight and racing but it was definitely there. He gently pulled open her eyelids and examined her pupils, slightly dilated but nothing to really be concerned about. Watson turned to Holmes,

"I'm admitting her to the hospital." He began to turn away to fetch a nurse, when Holmes grabbed his arm.

"Is she going to die?" Holmes almost had tears in his eyes. Watson smiled,

"No, Holmes. She's not going to die, she's merely exhausted and malnourished, and with proper bed rest and a proper meal she will be fine." Watson placed a reassuring hand over his friends. Holmes' eyes did not relax but remained fixed on Irene. Watson walked away, deciding that it was best not to tell him that if she had been found a mere twenty four hours later she would have been dead.

Irene was safely admitted to the Royal London Hospital; Holmes did not leave her bedside. He remained stroking her cold hand, willing life into her. Watson made his rounds, lingering a little longer than he ought to by Irene's bedside, checking on his friend. He sighed as he watched Holmes reluctantly leave her to eat at the Matron's request. Watson did not let himself be seen. He walked over to Irene's side and placed a fatherly hand on her forehead, she was surprisingly warm. Slowly her eyes began to flutter open. She attempted to cough but her body was too weak. Watson stroked her head and soothed her. She focused her brilliant eyes on him and he smiled.

"Welcome back Mrs. Norton."

"Adler." She corrected in a weak voice.

"I apologise." Watson said meekly. She smiled.

"Dr. Watson, I don't believe I have been more glad to see anyone in my entire life."

"Holmes is here, he is eating, but he hasn't left your side since he brought you in."

Irene's eyes seemed to shine at the mention of Holmes but her face betrayed nothing. Watson heard Holmes' distinct footsteps behind him and he released Irene's hand.

"Irene." Holmes was breathless.

"Mr. Holmes," she smiled beautifully at him and Watson decided it was his time to leave, neither of them knew he was there. He turned to go but Holmes took his hand and drew him to his side. Quietly, Holmes whispered in a voice that was so unlike his cold, emotionless self that Watson was sure he was dreaming;

"Thank you, with all my heart, thank you."


	2. Chapter 2

_I've always wanted to write a Sherlock Holmes/Irene Adler romance, even though it goes against everything I believe Sherlock Holmes to be, but I'm giving in to temptation and writing it nonetheless! Hope you like it, I will appreciate that not everyone likes Holmes in love so I've tried to be as delicate and subtle about it as possible : ) Music97 xxx I don't own Holmes or Watson blah blah blah…_

**Chapter Two. **

Irene stared into the bleak night beyond the confines of the hospital walls, desperate to be out; even on such a wintry night as this her heart yearned to be free of the walls that surrounded her. A glance down at the sleeping figure by her bedside convinced her otherwise. He looked almost peaceful as he held her hand and was lost to his dreams. Irene felt a wave of feeling wash over her, not pity, but a deep sadness for him and for her. Sadness for their lives would never be intertwined the way she wanted, the way she had always longed for from the moment she had met him. When she had beaten him at his own game, she smiled as she thought of it. She wished she knew how it had made him feel. He stirred and his eyes blinked open, they settled on her own. He smiled, a somewhat forced smile she thought but she returned it nonetheless. He seemed suddenly aware that he was holding her hand; he quickly pulled it away as if the touch of her skin burned him. He stared at his hand for a few minutes before again returning his gaze to Irene.

"I'm sorry for…falling asleep on you." His tone was so serious that Irene had to smile.

"It's quite alright; you were obviously tired or would not have taken such a liberty I'm sure." She smiled; Holmes knew she was teasing him, even as unaccustomed to the ways of women as he was. He attempted a smile back but it did not quite form so he cleared his throat and stood.

"Will you be alright?" he asked in a worried tone.

Irene held his eyes, willing him, for the first time in her life, to kiss her. She knew he would not.

"Yes, I'm feeling much better…thanks to you."

Holmes avoided her eyes,

"Anyone would have done what I did. It was merely a natural human reaction."

"I have seen many people come and go and pass me by, you did not. You saved me, in spite of your protestations Mr. Holmes you embody humanity like no-one I have ever met."

Holmes started to say something but stopped, the words catching in his throat. Instead he walked over to Irene and took her hand; he gently stroked it with a long forefinger then bent over it and brushed his lips against her hand, not quite a kiss but enough to make Irene lose all sense of herself. After a brief moment he released her, then quickly turned and walked out of the ward, out the hospital and into the cool December air. He breathed it in, agonised by his own shame for feeling things he felt debased him. Feelings he knew nothing about and could not explain, he felt sick, confused. A cab pulled up nearby, expecting him to take it. Holmes waved it away, preferring the walk, needing the air. He walked away from the hospital back towards Baker Street but realised he could not face the empty apartment; he turned down a side street and headed for Watson's home. A brief glance at his watch made him pause; it was one in the morning. Still, Watson would not mind being woken. If there was one person in the world he could rely on it was Watson. Holmes stopped in his tracks as emotion washed over him, knocking him sideways. He sighed, gathering his thoughts together and banishing Irene from his thoughts. He pulled his coat tighter around his shivering frame and continued to walk. Within minutes he was standing outside Watson's door. All was dark; Holmes felt his courage fail him. Then a light in the upstairs window flickered and a figure approached the blind. Watson. Pulling the blind up, his friend's figure was revealed in the sickly yellow light of the candle before him. Holmes almost jumped with joy at seeing him but remained motionless. As Watson's eyes registered Holmes the candle flickered, Holmes followed the light down the stairs and to the front door. He heard a key turn in the lock and then his friend was before him, still dressed, albeit looking slightly dishevelled.

"Holmes! What on earth are you doing here at this hour?"

Holmes smiled at his friend,

"May I come in?" he asked taking a step forward.

"Yes, of course my dear fellow, come in." Watson retreated into the hallway and turned up the gas, light illuminated the hallway and Holmes blinked, his eyes having grown accustomed to the darkness without.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you Watson but I could not face an empty home. Is that alright?"

Watson smiled, Holmes was still so wary of social conventions; even with a man he had known for nearly fifteen years. Watson took Holmes' arm,

"Of course, please come in." Holmes allowed himself to be lead to the front room, Holmes observed that Watson had not long retired as the fire was still very much alive in the grate and Watson's state of attire confirmed the fact. Holmes sat down in a chair next to the fire and stared into it, revelling in its warmth. Watson poured Holmes a glass of brandy, concerned about his pale and drawn face. Holmes glanced up sharply as the drink was placed in his hands, but smiled gratefully.

"How is Irene?" Watson asked, taking the chair opposite Holmes.

Holmes smiled; his friend was picking up deductive qualities.

"She is doing much better. Thank you Watson." Holmes took a sip of his drink and winced as the liquid burned the back of his throat. He suddenly realised he had not eaten in two days. Watson said nothing, unsure of what he should say; he decided it was best to let Holmes tell him in his own time, whatever it was he needed to say. They sat in silence for almost half an hour before Holmes spoke. Watson forced his eyes to open, trying not to think about his surgery which would open in under 5 hours.

"Something's wrong Watson, but I can't think. She…" He faltered, the empty brandy glass dangling from his fingers and his eyes fixed on the dying fire.

"What do you mean? You think she's hiding something?"

"She's hiding the fact she's terrified."

"I can't imagine Irene Adler terrified!" Watson laughed, Holmes forced a smile.

"No, that is precisely what is worrying me. But I can't figure it out, I can't get her to talk Watson and I'm no good with women!" Holmes face contorted into a deep frown. Watson sighed, Holmes was better with women than he realised, he could sooth them and get them to talk with him, his curse was he didn't know he was doing it.

"Give her time Holmes; she's recovering from whatever it is she's been through. She'll talk eventually."

"We may not have that much time. But I can't keep seeing her, it's not helping me to think."

Watson felt sorry for his friend, it was obvious Holmes loved her but his own nature prevented him from accepting it, and if not acting on it then at least moving on, but Holmes could not even do that.

"I'll see her for you, see what I can gather, I'm no you Holmes but I'll do whatever I can to help you. To help both of you."

Holmes smiled at Watson; he always came through, even when Holmes didn't know what he wanted him to do.

"Thank you Watson." Holmes leaned forward, placing his fingertips together, suddenly assuming the role of the master detective, all trace of emotion hidden, "See if you can find out where she's been all these years, what happened to her husband and what on earth she was doing in that terrible part of London."

Watson noticed Holmes voice take on a renewed energy, his eyes sparkled and glittered as a case was presented. It would have been the same with any case, Irene Adler's was no different. Except it was, this time it was. Holmes could not be around his client for fear of distractions, and this time his client had not asked for his help, he had given it freely. When he had seen the look in her eyes he knew he could do nothing until she was safe.

"I'm going to bed Holmes; you are welcome to stay the night."

"Yes, I think I will. Thank you Watson."

Watson nodded and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder and squeezed lightly. Holmes didn't move. Watson made his way upstairs to bed and to his wife, he turned on the stairs and saw the figure of his friend sitting silently, evidently lost in his thoughts. Watson cried for him and felt what he could not. Holmes eventually tore himself from the fireside and went to bed, as he lay staring into the blackness, he was vaguely aware dawn was close and all his thoughts were filled with Irene, and Irene alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three.**

"Lestrade you simply can't expect me to drop everything for your silly little case!" Holmes shouted at the detective who was standing rather sullenly in front of him.

"Silly?! Mr. Holmes I don't think you quite realise what I'm up against here. I've got some very high up people on my back."

"That is hardly my concern Lestrade, I'm sorry but I simply don't have the time." Holmes walked over to the door and shouted down the stairs,

"Mrs. Hudson!" His voice hit every wall and bounced back at Lestrade who winced at the sound, feeling suddenly very sorry for this intolerable man's housekeeper. She appeared quietly at the door. Holmes paid no attention to her but continued leafing through the book in his hand.

"Please show the Inspector out Mrs. Hudson," he glanced up briefly at Lestrade who sighed, realising it was pointless to keep asking. He passed Holmes, who completely ignored him as he disappeared. Mrs. Hudson tutted but said nothing as she closed the door.

Holmes snarled at the book and threw it to the floor. He was getting nowhere with Irene's case, she simply would not talk to Watson. She was unfailingly polite but would reveal nothing. Holmes was loathe to go and see her but decided he had no choice; he had turned down six cases in as many days and was fighting off calls from some of the top men in the country. He had to be rid of this woman, and that meant solving her case. He sighed as he put on his coat and hat; he picked up his cane and hit the palm of his hand with it. It was a pointless exercise but she was making him frustrated, he needed to feel anything but what he was feeling, even if it meant pain.

Irene had finally been allowed to take a walk in the grounds of the hospital. She had argued with her nurses for many hours until they finally succumbed to her pleas. She enjoyed the hospital garden, the air was cool and welcoming after so many hours shut up inside. She allowed herself to think for the first time in months, about her situation. She was effectively helpless, and completely reliant on Holmes. Something she abhorred. He had saved her life and she was grateful, but fear clutched at her heart whenever she thought of his leaving her, which he would eventually. A solitary raindrop fell from a branch above her head and landed gently on her hand, she raised it to her cheek and let the moisture cool her flushed skin. That was how Holmes found her, her elegant hand resting against her beautiful face. He paused breathless; she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Her eyes fixed on him and she smiled, she thought she was dreaming. The smile disappeared when she realised she wasn't, he had come like she knew he would. She stood shakily; Holmes ran over to her and took her arm.

"You should not be out of bed." His voice was stern yet gentle, Irene smiled.

"I could not stay in that room any longer, it was stifling."

She avoided his eyes as he led her inside; she paused underneath a large tree and turned to him, still holding both his hands.

"I know why you're here, but you can't help me Holmes. It was entirely my own fault, my…situation. Please don't humiliate me any further." Holmes' hands climbed further up Irene's arms, she shivered. Holmes thought it was because she was cold.

"Come inside." He commanded. Irene sighed, there was nothing she could do against this man, she had beaten him once but she was a different person then.

"Tell me Irene, please."

"Why should you care about me? What am I to you?" She was desperate, she had rehearsed what she was going to say to him a thousand times in her head, but now, seeing him, it had all disappeared.

"I think you know why. I need to help you."

"No you don't, you need to help yourself, a case is before you and it's killing you that you can't have it. It makes absolutely no difference that it is my case." She placed a hand on her stomach, the pain was quite intense.

"Shall I fetch a doctor?" Holmes' voice betrayed nothing of the turmoil he felt.

"No, thank you. I'm quite alright." She coughed lightly, placing a tissue against her mouth, she was conscious of the blood but she hid it well, "Very well. The last time we met I had just married a man I thought would be with me forever, a man I thought would love me the way I needed to be loved. I was wrong. He left me two months after our marriage for a widow in New York. I had nothing; he had left me with nothing. I had to rely on my wits again, something which didn't bother me too much, I was used to being left and let down. Especially by men."

She paused to look at Holmes, he was gazing intently at her.

"He was never worthy of you." Was his only comment, Irene merely smiled weakly, keeping one hand on her stomach to suppress her coughs.

"Anyway, regardless of his worth I was again alone and singing in New York to earn my keep. I rented an apartment and life was tolerable if not affluent. As you know, I am always restless, I met a man who was rich and attractive, he took an instant shine to me." She was suddenly aware of Holmes' accusing eyes, "I never did anything that would have compromised me – or my honour." She continued, glancing at him, he nodded.

"I knew he was involved in criminal activity, I suppose in hindsight I should not have become involved but I knew the people he had hurt, the people he was still hurting. I could not merely stand by and do nothing. So I became his confidant, he told me everything about his activities and I in turn, informed the police. All was well, until he discovered me. He subjected me to…" She paused and coughed as the haunting memories flooded back to her.

"Irene, he didn't…" Holmes said leaning forward, Irene dodged his touch.

"No, although it was not from want of trying. He beat me and threw me into the street, I returned home to find all my belongings gone and my apartment ransacked, he left me with one courtesy, a boat ticket to England, banishing me from America for good. I readily took it and found myself in London. I thought of you but I was too humiliated by my failure to find you and ask for help."

Holmes muttered something inaudible and placed a hand over his mouth, he could not bear to look at her.

"I found work as a singer in an East End theatre, it was not exactly high brow entertainment, but it fed, clothed and housed me. Unfortunately, the man who owned the establishment wanted more, I refused to give it which resulted in you finding me outside that awful place, after seeing you I fell into a kind of depression. You reminded me of everything I used to be and reinforced everything I had become. I stopped looking for work, my condition worsened and…well, the rest you know. You saved me Mr. Holmes, as you did before, as you always have. I thank you for your friendship and your care, you are the most worthy man I have ever known."

Irene paused, retaining the grace Holmes felt she had always possessed. His eyes were cloudy, he blinked. Was that really the image he portrayed to the world? Was he really so formidable that not even the woman he loved felt she could ask for his help? No, he could not bear the thought that he had done this to her. He took her hands.

"I'm sorry Irene."

She laughed, a cold laugh that pained her, she took a deep breath. Holmes was next to her now, his hand on her back supporting her trembling body.

"Irene, I don't know what I can do." He sounded almost helpless and Irene could not bear to hear it.

"There is nothing you can do. Stay with me?" She posed it as a question; Holmes dropped his head on to her shoulder.

"I should have always stayed with you. I will find him Irene, I will find him and stop him, punish him for all he has done to you."

She smiled and she knew that he would, it felt good to be avenged. It felt better to be avenged by Sherlock Holmes. He raised his head to look into her eyes and they both knew it was the last time they would be together. Holmes leaned in tentatively and Irene knew it scared him, she leaned into him and his lips found hers. It was a tentative kiss, it was all she could manage, but she felt it was the most wonderful kiss of her life. His lips were cool and they played over her own like a song, he pulled away and slowly opened his eyes, he felt dizzy and so unlike himself it scared him.

Irene rested her head on his chest.

"I love you Sherlock Holmes, I always have, throughout everything it's only ever been you. But then, you always knew that."

Irene wasn't sure if he had heard her, he said nothing. Even now Holmes could not bring himself to say the words, he stroked her hair and they remained that way looking out on to the sunlit garden until it grew dark.

With the setting of the sun, the life of Irene Adler also dimmed and eventually faded into darkness. Holmes knew she was gone but he held her close, those that passed thought she was asleep in her husband's arms, not one tear did Holmes shed. He held her until the final warmth from her body had gone, then he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the waiting doctors who took her from him. He watched as a blanket was placed over her and she was gone, gone from him and from the world forever. Walking out into the chill night Holmes felt numb, but he felt anger welling up inside him. He would find that man, and he would avenge the death of the only woman who had ever meant anything to him, the only woman he would ever love. He would avenge _the _woman and he would do it with no mercy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter four.**

Watson was aware of Irene's death, he had read about in the newspaper. It irked him that such a splendid woman should warrant only a small section in a grubby tabloid. He sighed. He had not seen Holmes for days; he was worried about his friend. He had taken off before of course, but this time it was different. He sat in his chair by the fire and thought of Holmes and Irene. _Holmes and Irene_, there had never been any such thing. It was Holmes' nature to push people away but Watson would never be able to think of his friend without the slightest pang of pity. He was about to retreat upstairs to his bed when he heard a faint knocking on the window outside. At first he thought it must have been the wind, he approached the window with caution and gently lifted the blind. There gazing forlornly in at him was Holmes. Watson was not shocked, Holmes was as unconventional as Watson was traditional. He opened the window to allow his friend to enter. Holmes climbed through the window with an elegance that Watson could not help but smile at. Holmes turned to face Watson,

"My dear fellow," Watson began, but Holmes raised a hand to stop him.

"I'm perfectly alright Watson," Holmes forced a smile and allowed his hand to rest on Watson's arm. Watson smiled in return.

"Would you like a drink Holmes?" Watson asked, deciding it was better to leave well alone.

"Yes, thank you. It's been a tiring day." Holmes collapsed into a chair opposite Watson's and ran a hand across his face and through his hair. Watson thought he looked tired, there were dark circles around his eyes and held his body in a tense, unnatural way. Watson handed him his drink, which Holmes drank in one. He placed the glass on the floor next to his feet. Without looking at him, Holmes said,

"Do you fancy a trip to America Watson?"

Watson turned from the glass of whiskey he was pouring,

"America?"

"Yes, New York to be precise."

"I suppose I could manage it. How long for?"

"As long as it takes," Holmes said, his voice almost a whisper. Watson walked closer to his friend.

"As long as what takes?" He sat down at Holmes' elbow and willed his friend to look at him.

"I have to avenge her Watson."

"You're searching for someone who has a connection to Irene?" None of what Holmes was saying was making sense, Watson wished the fire in the room wasn't so hot, he loosened his collar.

"It's his fault she's dead Watson and I must avenge her. If I do nothing else with my life I must do this."

"Why must you Holmes? This could be dangerous and it wont bring her back." Watson's voice was gentle but Holmes rallied at the question. He stood and spun to face him,

"Don't you think I know that!" Holmes' voice was loud and harsh, so harsh it cut through Watson's heart like a knife, "But this man is responsible for her death Watson and she tried to stop him and failed. I will not fail."

Holmes made a movement as if to go but thought better of it. He sighed and looked at Watson almost imploringly.

"Watson please, you have loved and lost, please help me. I know of no other way to…" He paused and rested his hand on the mantelpiece, his gaze fixed on the dying embers of the fire. Watson stood and placed a hand over Holmes'.

"I will help you my friend. I'm sorry; I know only too well what you must be going through."

Holmes raised his eyes an inch but did not smile, Watson felt his fear disappearing as he gazed into Holmes' glittering eyes. Holmes nodded.

"Thank you," he cleared his throat, evidently uncomfortable as his near loss of self-control.

"Are you able to leave tomorrow?" He had returned to the Holmes of old and Watson cleared his throat in relief.

"Yes, if you so wish it."

"Good, then be ready, for we catch the six o'clock boat to New York."

Holmes almost ran to the window through which he had entered and opened it, as he prepared to leave he turned to a stunned Watson.

"Thank you Watson. I knew I could rely on your help," He paused as if unsure how to continue, he avoided Watson's eyes, "She was the love of my life old friend, and now she's gone; and even with everything I am I cannot begin to know how to deal with it, so I must do what I know. I will bring this man to justice."

"I have no doubt of it Holmes," Watson said proudly. Holmes nodded and favoured his friend with a dazzling smile. With that he left as silently as he arrived, leaving Watson bewildered and alone. In spite of the cold he left the window open as if by doing so he could still feel Holmes' presence on the wind. He was glad that Holmes' had admitted that to him and he felt proud to be the man's friend. Watson thanked God in that tiny room of his, looking onto a starlit garden; that he was the friend of Sherlock Holmes and that he had in his life someone on whom he could completely rely. And somewhere in the darkness of that garden, sat Sherlock Holmes secretly watching his friend and thanking a God he had given up hope on, for the exact same thing.


	5. Author Note

That was just a short little chapter to kind of explain things as I'm going away until Mon and won't have access to the internet! Nooooooo :) anyway…hope you're enjoying this story; there is a distinct lack of feedback people! Please let me know what you think else I'll stop because I'll think no-one is interested!

Thank you, have a wonderful weekend all,

Amy aka Music97 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter six**

Sherlock Holmes and John Watson set sail for New York bright and early on December 1st 1900. The wind was ice cold and the sea choppy and forbidding. Even with this prophetic atmosphere, Holmes approached the ship with determination and such a sense of purpose that even the sea cowered in his wake. Watson followed, unsure of the outcome of this journey, unsure that he even wanted to take the journey at all. But he would not leave Holmes. As he glanced at his friend, he could see how tense he was, every fibre of his body was on edge and he examined each passenger as if they were his arch nemesis. Watson left him gazing out onto the sea as he found their room and collapsed onto the bed, the emotional exhaustion taking over. He would not let himself fall asleep, not yet. He forced himself to rise and ventured out onto the deck to find Holmes. He had been even more silent and solitary since Irene's death, working ceaselessly and sleeping little. It was beginning to show on his face, his eyes were dark and the wrinkles on his aging face more pronounced. His usually immaculate appearance was somewhat blurred at the edges. Watson sighed as he gazed at him, this trip would either save him or kill him, and at this moment there was no way of knowing which would be the outcome. Holmes turned as Watson approached attempting a weak smile, Watson smiled in return.

"How does our cabin look Watson?" Even his voice was weak.

"Very good Holmes, for a ship at least."

Holmes smiled and returned his gaze to the sea. Watson shifted uncomfortably, the ice needed to be broken.

"Holmes, I know how hard this must be for you but you must move on from it. I can't advise you on how to do that because I don't know, what I do know is that if you keep punishing yourself for her death it will destroy you; and you may be ready to die but I am not ready to lose you." Watson's voice was choked with tears but he did not show them, he was a gentleman after all.

Holmes did not take his eyes off the horizon, he merely said,

"I do not blame myself Watson, I blame him. Her death has sealed his fate." Holmes turned and took Watson's hand, "I am sorry for my distance, old friend. I wouldn't hurt you for the world. You will not lose me that I can promise you."

Watson nodded, unsure of how to respond. They both turned to the sea as the ship began to move.

"Have you ever been to America Holmes?" Watson asked, changing the subject to one of less emotional tension.

"Only once Watson, a brief stay on the way back to London during my 'death' it is a strange place for the English to venture. More peculiar than any place I have ever visited"

"Stranger than Tibet and India Holmes I can hardly believe that." Watson laughed gently.

Holmes turned a sparkling pair of eyes on his friend and smiled,

"Yes, I'm afraid so Watson, much, much stranger."

As they arrived on American soil, the snow was falling on New York City. Watson felt ill from the long and tiring journey, as he descended the walkway to solid ground he nearly wept as he felt stable ground beneath his feet. He turned to find Holmes striding forcefully toward him, a large smile on his face.

"Isn't it beautiful Watson? The fate of the world may lie on these shores in the future Watson." His voice had regained that vigour and hint of sarcasm that it had always had, Watson smiled. The voyage had done his friend good, the change had made him forget his pain and the promise of a case had rejuvenated him.

"Surely not Holmes, England is far too strong."

Holmes laughed; a sound that made Watson glad to hear it.

"Yes, she is strong Watson but for how long? Anyhow, such rambles are pointless; we should be getting on should we not?"

Holmes strode off to get their luggage while Watson remained to catch his breath. Maybe, he thought, this would be the place where miracles happened, but it may also be the centre of some great evil. Watson shuddered as he approached Holmes who was chatting amiably to some cab driver. As Watson approached they ceased their conversation.

"Ah Watson, where have you been?" Holmes smiled, "Jump in."

Holmes leaped into the cab and Watson followed wearily, how could Holmes be so awake after such a voyage? The man was impossible.

As they travelled through the New York Streets towards their hotel, Watson had never been more in awe of any city. It was huge, everything seemed to be on a larger scale, there were more people and more traffic than he had ever seen. He could Holmes was just as impressed, his eyes shone and occasionally he smiled.

"This was just the city for her." He murmured once, more to himself than to Watson, Watson looked at him. Such a change had come over his friend; he was no longer the forlorn grief stricken lover, a role which had never fit him well. He was now the keen-eyed and shrewd observer he had always been. Watson breathed a sigh of relief. Holmes heard it but said nothing. They reached their hotel in the early afternoon, the snow had settled and veiled the city like a blanket, the cool air was comforting to their tired bodies. The hotel was magnificent, Watson gasped as he took in the marble floors and the electric lights, still somewhat of a novelty in England. Holmes smiled,

"I never skimp on travel Watson."

He approached the gentleman at the desk and smiled,

"Good afternoon gentlemen, do you have a room booked with us?"

Holmes hesitated for a moment, taking in the man's accent then replied,

"Yes, under the name of Holmes."

The man searched his book until he found Holmes' name, he then turned the book towards him,

"If you would just sign here Sir."

"Certainly." As Holmes began to write the clerk engaged him in polite conversation,

"Are you here on business or pleasure Sir?"

"A little of both, perhaps." Holmes returned the pen and again favoured the man with a dazzling smile.

"Well we are glad to be the hosts of the great Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson." The man smiled Watson's shocked expression, Holmes laughed loudly,

"I see our fame has spread Watson. It is always gratifying to be noticed." He held out his hand to the young clerk who shook it without a word, Holmes was still smiling as he span on his heel and left the lobby.

"You should be flattered Doctor that your stories have reached as far as America." Holmes glanced at him upon entering the room.

"All the fame belongs to you Holmes, I am a mere observer of your talents."

"Oh Watson really!" Holmes exclaimed, pushing apart the blinds and looking into the streets. "You never know Watson you may find a lovely American lady to occupy your thoughts. I'm sure there are many"

Watson coughed, not dignifying him with an answer.

**From the notes of Doctor John Watson's Diary, dated 2****nd**** December 1900.**

_Our first day in New York was uneventful; we left the hotel and had dinner in a nearby restaurant. Life is so different here to England. I'm not saying the manners are unrefined but they leave a lot to be desired. Holmes talked incessantly through dinner. I barely listened; my thoughts were elsewhere, on this man that Holmes had intimated was somehow responsible for Irene Adler's death, how was he going to find him in this labyrinth of streets?! Holmes seemed not to care, at least to the outside world he did not care. I could not help thinking as I watched him that his plan, whatever it was, was already being put in place. That this outward show of cordiality and confidence was a ruse, he wanted to be found, he wanted New York to know that Sherlock Holmes was there so he made a noise. We dined everywhere in that first week, Holmes charmed his way into the minds of everyone we met, I had never known him to be quite as much the social butterfly as he was during that first week of our stay. He even attended a society ball, and danced with practically every lady of note there, all of which fell in love with him instantly, only I saw how much he longed to be elsewhere and how their smiles and attention made him shudder. Holmes is a strange creature, he can charm his way into the heart of any woman and yet…Still it is late to ponder such thoughts, I will maintain this diary throughout our stay for who knows this may as eventful a case as any we have investigated together, I feel sure our trip will bring out the very best and the very worst in my friend and I want some record of it. But for know sleep beckons, I can hear Holmes pacing in his room but I will not disturb him. I am sure, at moments like this, that Holmes is a machine, one that doesn't rest or eat, one that is given a task to do and will only rest when that task is completed. To sleep dear reader, I pray that I will have the courage to face our future in this strange city and to be at Holmes' side when the inevitable happens…_


	7. Chapter 6

_Hi everyone who is still reading this! I am soooo sorry for the lack of updates, but life has been manic lately and Christmas is fast approaching! If this is my last update before Christmas I just want to say I hope you all have a fantastic Christmas and a wonderful New Year and I will see you all in 2008! Loads of Love and gratitude for reading, Music97 xxx_

**Chapter Seven.**

The wind was cold and the ground covered in a blanket of snow as John Watson awoke from a deep sleep, he glanced over to Holmes' bed to see it had been slept in but was now empty. Sitting up, Watson rubbed his eyes and felt a chill sweep over him. He quickly dressed and pulled aside the curtains of his room to glance at the snowy street outside, deciding it would be better to stay inside, he closed the curtains again. As he did so the door was flung open and Holmes appeared, red faced and breathless.

"It's a cold one Watson," Holmes remarked, taking off his gloves and hat and throwing them on the bed.

"Yes, I can see. You seem in a remarkably good mood." Watson remarked with a smile, as Holmes' mood as of late had been temperamental to say the least.

"Well, things are finally coming together old man, finally!" Holmes clapped his hands together and walked over to the window, "Ha! He is there like I knew he would be."

Watson followed him over to the window and looked over his shoulder at the man on the opposite side of the street, who was gazing nonchalantly at their window.

"Who is he?" Watson asked.

"Nobody of any importance; just a pawn in a much bigger game. He's been sent to watch me." Holmes did not seem perturbed by the fact he was being watched, even Watson had grown used to being observed by the criminal underworld, it came with being friends with Holmes. Holmes let the curtain fall back into place and sat on the edge of his unmade bed.

"You are being noticed then, all that socialising worked." Watson smiled as his friend cringed at the memory of all those dances.

"Yes…"Holmes said slowly, "Although a part of me wonders whether it was worth it, still it did what was required. He noticed me Watson, and his lackey out there is the first sign of it. I'm not sure if he just wants to keep an eye on me or if he knows about Irene."

It was the first time he had mentioned her since they had arrived and at her name, his eyes glazed over slightly and his body tensed, however the display of emotion was gone as quickly as it had arrived, and Holmes relaxed.

"What are you going to do?" Watson asked quietly.

"I'm not sure. Wait and see I suppose, there's not an awful lot else I can do."

Watson frowned, it was not like Holmes to just sit and wait, still this was no ordinary case.

"You know who he is then? The man who…wronged Irene?"

"Yes, I know him. I don't know how powerful he is, but I know he's responsible for a great deal of crime in this city." Holmes lay back on his bed and stared passively at the ceiling.

A knock came from the door; Holmes glanced sideways and shouted,

"Come in!"

A young girl of about twenty opened the door, the maid.

"Shall I come back sir?" She said, in a sweet American voice, glancing shyly at Holmes' figure sprawled on the bed. Holmes sat up and sighed,

"No, we're going out now." Holmes took his coat and hat from the bed and put them back on, Watson followed his lead. The girl slowly edged her way into the room, Holmes smiled briefly at her as he passed. Watson did the same and the girl blushed. As they descended the stairs, Holmes laughed silently.

"Something amusing Holmes?" Watson asked.

"She's taken a shine to you Watson."

"Honestly Holmes."

Holmes laughed as he followed Watson to the street below, then linked his arm in his as they walked into the busy city. Following close behind was the man they had seen earlier. Holmes was aware of it and glanced quickly over his shoulder, good, that was what he wanted; to be followed. He glanced at Watson, oblivious of the danger they were in. Holmes could feel his revolver in his pocket and it comforted him. He led Watson down a side street and paused. The man was nowhere to be seen.

"Watson, I need you to do something for me." Holmes' voice was urgent and he grasped Watson's arm.

"Anything Holmes you know that."

"We are being followed, I need you to get to man called Michael McCrawley, he lives at this address and he is expecting you."

Watson took the piece of paper that Holmes had offered him.

"What about you?"

"I'm going to deal with our friend." Holmes relaxed his grip on Watson's arm and glanced to the end of the street.

"Holmes…"

"Go Watson, and make sure you are not followed, I will follow you," seeing Watson's distressed look, he added, "I promise. Now go!"

Holmes practically pushed Watson away from him, who looked briefly at Holmes then down the street and hurried away to the address shown on the paper. Holmes watched him go until he was out of sight then walked cautiously to the end of the street. He glanced around the side of the wall, and a strong hand thrust him backwards. Holmes struggled but the grip was strong and had tightened around his neck. He was crushed against the wall, the freezing cold of the brick seeping into his skin. Holmes kicked the man as hard as he was able, and he fell to the ground. Holmes kicked him again and he rolled onto his side, placing a knee against the man's windpipe Holmes pressed hard. The man was stunned but he recovered quickly and threw Holmes off him onto his back, a sharp punch landed across Holmes' cheek and another one quickly followed. His mind was swimming and blood was beginning to blur his vision. He lunged at the man on top of him and flung him off, placing a blow across his face, the man fell to the ground allowing Holmes time to regain his senses. Before the man could recover Holmes had pinned him to the ground.

"Who are you?" Holmes growled, spitting the blood from his mouth.

"None of your damn business!" To Holmes' surprise the man had a thick cockney accent. The shock gave the man a valuable second to escape Holmes' grip, Holmes was again on the ground, blood pouring from his hand and head.

"Listen to me Holmes, we know all about you and your woman and enquiries ain't welcome! Keep this up and you will be disposed of, and it won't be quick or painless!"

Holmes closed his eyes and tried to focus his thoughts, he pushed up with all the strength left to him and threw the man into the opposite wall, he hit it with a thud and slid down it. Holmes clutched at his throat and wiped the blood from his eyes, ensuring the man was not dead; he picked up his hat and left the alley. As he turned the corner, he began to run, he was being followed, they had not been alone in that alley. A cry wanted to escape from his lips but he refused to let it. The pain was becoming unbearable but he had to keep running, he dodged past the multitude of people who gasped as they saw the state of this well-dressed gentleman, he paid them no heed. He needed to get to Watson, his head was growing sore and the pounding in his ears was deafening. He shook himself to clear his vision. The address he had given to Watson was not far away, he should be there by now. He was; he saw the door of the building he had been seeking and pushed it open, the doorman rushed after him and touched his shoulder, Holmes span round. The movement was too much, before he could say a word of explanation he had collapsed into the man's arms and the world had gone black.


	8. Chapter 7

_I__'d almost forgot about this story! I was preoccupied with the other one, I knew two stories at the same time was a bad idea : ) Anyway, here's the next chapter - finally! Hope you enjoy, please review and let me know Music97 xx_

**Chapter Seven. **

"Holmes? Holmes? Can you hear me?" A familiar voice shouted, breaking into his consciousness. Holmes was dimly aware of the taste of brandy and coughed as it hit the back of his throat. He tried to raise himself but the rush of dizziness propelled him backwards on what he found to be a bed.

"Watson?" His voice came out raspy and his throat hurt.

"Yes, who else? Don't try to talk you'll damage what is already a precarious situation."

Watson poured more brandy into him until Holmes pushed him away.

"No more, are you trying to get me drunk Watson?" Holmes attempted a smile, but pulled it back when he realised Watson was far from amused.

"You could have been killed." His words were simple enough, and true enough but Holmes did not want to confront his guilt so he merely ignored them.

"What is your point?"

Watson stood up and sighed, replacing the brandy on the counter.

"My point is that if you intended to get into fights with random thugs, then it was pointless coming all the way over here for whatever type of closure you're seeking. Fights with criminals can be just as easily found in London as in New York, Holmes."

Holmes would have laughed out loud if the action had been possible.

"Watson don't be so ridiculous! You don't think I went looking for this do you?! Trouble somehow seems to have a way of finding _me_."

Watson looked at him for a few seconds to ensure he was telling the truth, then he smiled.

"Holmes stop pouting you look like a naughty school boy."

Holmes immediately unfolded his arms, and smiled at his friend.

"And I thought I was getting somewhere." He sighed.

"You don't know who attacked you?"

"Oh I know, but I didn't think they were quite so aware of me - or quite so threatened by me. That at least, is a good sign."

"Good? Holmes you were nearly beaten to death and that is good?!"

Holmes sighed, Watson had never quite got the intricacies of detection.

"Yes, Watson, that is good, it means they are threatened by me and my investigation so much so that they want me out of the way. It means I'm getting close to Irene's murderer."

Watson shook his head.

"I fear I'll never understand you Holmes."

"Nor, my dear fellow, would I ever want you to." Holmes smiled as Watson left the room, deciding it was better to let Holmes stew for a while than try and persuade him to rest for the sake of his health, Holmes seldom did things for the sake of his health, especially not when advised by others to do so.

Holmes remained in his room, thinking out his next move for almost an hour before his thoughts turned to Irene. The feeling he experienced when he thought of her was not a welcome one and he did his best to vanquish it; this time however, it would not be put aside so easily. Thoughts of her drove him insane, he felt helpless. He thought of her smile, her eyes, her voice and he feared he was losing the memory. He had to concentrate to remember her smell and it pained him, the memory pained him and the fear of losing it was worse. He shook his head to dispel the tears he had never shed and would never shed. Emotion was a weakness he could not afford, it cost people their lives and it would not cost him his, not after this long, after so many years of fighting it, he would not give in now to the one thing that made him unique, the one thing that kept him brilliant, not even for Irene would he do that. He stood up and felt the pain sear through his legs and up into his chest, he had not realised that the man had beaten him quite so roughly. He sat back down on the bed to regain his breath, he had to move, he simply had to. He could not stay in that room and let his thoughts consume him. He stood and dressed, being careful of everything. Finally he was ready, he took tentative steps toward the sitting room and paused at the door, he heard voices, one was undoubtedly Watson's, the other he did not recognise. He glanced through the gap in the door frame and stifled a gasp of astonishment. It was him, the man he had come to New York to find and take his revenge on. Holmes had known his identity for a while, Irene's descriptions had matched only one man, he was notorious enough but all for the wrong reasons. Why was he here? And why was Watson talking to him like they were old friends? Holmes felt sick, but he held back the nausea long enough to push open the door and assume a nonchalant air to greet this strange and unwelcome visitor.

The man facing him was barely forty years old and he wore it well, he was Holmes' height with thick black air and olive skin, he had a small neat moustache and he carried himself with grace. Holmes saw past the veneer however and greeted him cordially, not showing the contempt that was flowing through every vein in his body.

"You did not tell me we had visitors Watson." He placed a hand on Watson's shoulder who looked at him in amazement but said nothing, "You will forgive me if I do not shake your hand Mr. Gardenia, I had a slight accident earlier today and my arm is quite badly bruised."

Holmes assumed his most charming manner and smiled at his guest sweetly.

"Do not apologise Mr. Holmes, I merely stopped by to welcome such a famous visitor to our shores, I must apologise for the welcome you have received." His voice was rich and deep with only the hint of an American accent, "May I ask how you knew who I was?"

"Certainly you may, I'm afraid it is not a spectacular piece of deduction. Your success in business is well-known, you are featured in many of the society pages in London and I believe, we have a mutual friend."

"We do?" Gardenia looked puzzled but he revealed nothing.

"Yes, Miss. Adler." Holmes raised his eyes to meet Gardenia, a smile playing around his lips.

"Miss Adler? Oh, the opera singer, yes I remember her, she was quite good."

"I am afraid she will sing no more."

"Oh?"

"She is dead." Holmes' blunt statement shocked Watson as much as it shocked Gardenia.

"Dead?"

"Yes, a victim of her circumstances I'm afraid, still what can you do? Singers are terrible drunks." Holmes smiled, dismissing the pain he was feeling. Watson said nothing. Gardenia smiled and cleared his throat.

"Yes, well I must be going. It was a pleasure to meet you both, I would be honoured if you would consent to a little light supper with me tomorrow night?"

"We should be delighted" Holmes gushed, "Watson will see you out."

Gardenia bowed and let himself be led to the door by a dumbfounded Watson. When he returned Holmes' face had grown dark.

"Was he…?"

"Yes," Holmes said sharply, "He is the man I want."

"Why did you agree to have supper with him?"

"Because I want to get to know him, he seemed genuinely shocked at Irene's death, so that is not the reason he had one of his cronies attack me, although he may have been aware of our acquaintance. I need to know why he feels so threatened."

"This is dangerous Holmes."

"My life tends to be Watson, that is why I think it best if you remain here."

"Won't that look suspicious?"

"We can invent something I'm sure."

"No, Holmes I have not abandoned you yet, and I don't intend to. I made my decision a long time ago, and I'm never going to leave you."

Holmes looked up at his friend and smiled.

"I don't know how I've earnt this trust Watson but I'm grateful for it, thank you."

Watson smiled and called down for afternoon tea. While it was being poured, Holmes was far away, thoughts of Irene and a rose filled garden, with warm sunshine and cool air filled his head. He shook it and saw only darkness, betrayal and murder awaiting him. Slowly and without feeling, he sipped his tea…

_Hope you liked, I borrowed a quote from Doctor Who which is a bit fluffy but what they hell : ) Please read and review xx_


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight. The Dinner**

Holmes struggled with his tie, how he despised evening dress. Every social situation seemed to call for it however, so it was a convention he could not easily escape. He made a noise of disgruntled disapproval until Watson came to his aid smiling.

"You never have been able to fix a tie properly, " He said, doing it for him. Holmes said nothing, "What do you intend to do tonight?"

"Nothing." Seeing Watson's puzzled expression he sighed, "I intend to watch and to listen. I can't legally do anything – not yet."

Holmes glanced at himself in the mirror, fairly pleased with his appearance he turned to Watson.

"Shall we go?"

"If we must, I can't say I'm looking forward to this."

"I'm looking forward to this immensely." Holmes said, only a few seconds away from rubbing his hands together in delighted glee when, catching sight of Watson's worried face, merely cleared his throat and refrained from saying anything more. Together they headed into the cold New York night. Watson sighed noisily.

"Something wrong Watson?" Holmes asked innocently, knowing perfectly well what was bothering his friend.

"I don't like America; it is so different to home, so foreign to everything I know. I have to say I have felt more at home in some of the more obscure foreign parts I have journeyed through than here." Watson looked around him apprehensively as if someone were hiding, ready to pounce; somehow forcing modernity on this very Victorian gentleman.

"Yes," Holmes said, drawing the sound out to almost a hiss, "America is different, not entirely in a bad way though. I have a feeling Watson, America will become an even greater power than our own humble shores."

"Heaven forbid Holmes." Watson said in a sombre voice. Holmes merely smiled and cocked his head in a knowing way. Soon they approached the apartment of the man they had come to see. A chill seemed to descend over Holmes' body but he brushed the feeling away, he had come here tonight with a specific goal in mind and he was not about to let his ever troublesome emotions get in the way. Watson shuffled nervously next to him as he rung the bell. Holmes sighed again,

"For heaven's sake Watson will you keep still. We have not come to a dance."

Immediately Watson's movements ceased, Holmes smiled as he could barely hear the man breathing. He must calm down. The door was opened by a petite and pretty girl of about sixteen. Holmes bowed gallantly to her.

"We are here to see Mr. Gardenia."

The girl curtseyed and opened the door wider to reveal and warmly lit hallway.

"Come in Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson."

Holmes raised an eyebrow. The girl responded to his gaze.

"Mr. Gardenia told me you were expected and…"She paused, almost embarrassed. Holmes smiled and she continued, "I am a fan of your stories."

Holmes placed a hand on his forehead and winced, Watson smiled.

"I am always glad to meet an admirer."

Te girl blushed prettily then disappeared behind a door. Holmes turned to Watson,

"Always one for the ladies." Watson simply laughed quietly, Holms turned away again watching the door, apprehensive about what lay beyond. Thedoor clicked open and the girl reappeared,

"Please come this way, Mr, Gardenia will see you now."

Holmes smiled at her and followed her into a large well-lit room. Gardenia stood as they entered, holding out a hand. Reluctantly Holmes took it. Gardenia winced slightly,

"A strong grip you have there Mr. Holmes." Gardenia smiled, Holmes returned it sweetly.

"Yes, I sometimes forget my own strength, I apologise."

"Perfectly alright, Dr. Watson how good to see you again."

Gardenia turned to Watson who smiled softly and took the offered hand.

"Shall we eat? Dinner is ready I believe."

Gardenia extended a hand towards a laid out table at the far end of the room, Holmes smiled and followed, they each took their seats.

"Are we your only guests tonight?" Holmes enquired, glancing quickly at Watson who was finding it hard to eat anything under such circumstances, at Holmes' glance however he began to forge an attempt to eat something. Holmes looked back to Gardenia whose sure and confident manner was beginning to grate.

"Yes, I hope you don't mind. I thought we could have a conversation."

"Oh? About what?"

"Miss. Adler."

"What on earth would you want to talk about that creature for?" Holmes said nonchalantly. Watson cleared his throat.

"She was an acquaintance of yours I believe."

"She was involved in one of my cases a long time ago, other than that we hardly saw each other."

"Hardly? I had heard that you spent time together in Montenegro? Is that not so?"

Watson's eyes grew wide at this fresh news concerning his friend's past.

"Yes, there was that. A mere holiday and a mere coincidence that we ran into each other. I was on my way back to London after…after some time away when we met."

Holmes glanced at Watson again who was staring at him open mouthed. Holmes gently kicked his shin and he continued eating. Holmes picked at his food holding Gardenia's penetrating gaze.

"What is your interest in Miss. Adler?"

"You told me she died, as a previous…friend. I would like to know how."

"She died of advanced consumption and…suspected poisoning."

"Poison?"

Holmes began to eat, breaking his gaze with Gardenia.

"Yes, the consumption alone would not have killed her, although it did not help her condition. She was living in squalor when I find her, apparently her life savings had been stolen." Holmes glanced up to find Gardenia smiling.

"Really? Well as you said Mr. Holmes singers are terrible drunks."

Holmes merely returned his smile but said nothing.

"What line of work are you in Mr. Gardenia?" Watson asked, desperately trying to break the silence.

"Trade doctor." Gardenia smiled.

"Trade has made you all this?" Watson said incuriously looking around at the splendid apartment.

"Yes, I've been very lucky."

"Haven't you." Holmes said dryly. Watson glanced at him.

"Dinner was wonderful, thank you."

"You are welcome doctor. Shall we retire to the sitting room for coffee."

As they took their seats with coffee and brandy Holmes began to relax a little.

"What are you doing in New York Mr. Holmes."

"Just a holiday Mr. Gardenia, and recently a friend of mine died I am clearing what property she had left."

Gardenia stopped drinking his coffee and turned to face Holmes.

"Adler?" He said slowly his voice taking on a sinister tone.

"Yes isn't it strange how certain acquaintances have a way of catching up with you?" Holmes smiled sweetly as Gardenia stubbed out his cigar.

_Sorry for the length between updates! Please review : ) thank you xxx_


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter Ten. **

"You said you hardly knew her!" Gardenia almost spat at Holmes who did not flinch.

"I lied."

"You filthy, disgraceful, pompous Englishman! How dare you come into my house, accept my hospitality and then lie to me!"

Holmes laughed,

"I'm afraid Mr. Gardenia I have been called worse things and survived them. You obviously had connections with Miss. Adler, why don't you tell me of them?" Holmes assumed his most charming manner and his most sickly sweet voice, afraid that if he let even a hint of his true emotion slip out he would break and bring down on Gardenia all his grief and anger and all the force of his loathing, so he kept up the pretence as he had always done in the past.

"I shall not tell you anything!" Gardenia screamed once more, throwing his glass into the fire, it shattered into a million glittering pieces. Holmes stared at it for a moment, unmoving until Watson stood.

"Sit down Watson; we are not going anywhere until Mr. Gardenia tells us all he knows."

Watson obediently sat, wise enough not to disobey Holmes and loyal enough to trust that he knew what he was doing, even in this unusual circumstance. Gardenia sat, head in his hands, breathing heavily.

"Well?" Holmes pressed, sipping his brandy in a nonchalant manner that Watson was sure was going to anger his foe, and he tensed involuntary.

"What is this woman to you? Why do you care so much about how or why she died?"

"The answer to that is something you will never understand; just tell me what I need to know."

"And if I tell you, what will happen to me? Do you think I would let you take me alive? That I would let you bring me to justice, take away all I have earned?"

Holmes' face darkened and his eyes blazed,

"You have earned nothing Gardenia, you have gained everything you have through greed and murder, treading on everyone and destroying everything in your path and you expect me to be lenient?"

"I know you are a fair man Mr. Holmes, I have heard often of your fairness with men who, at the hands of the police would have been sent to the gallows."

"Those men committed crimes because they were forced into such actions, they did not choose to destroy people for their own gain as you have."

"You know nothing about what I have been through."

"I know enough to know it did not justify what you have done."

"You would care nothing for me if Adler had not died."

It was said softly but it had the desired effect, Holmes knew it was true, he knew of Gardenia's past and his fight to reclaim all he had lost; he knew he was punishing him for Irene's death when under normal circumstances he may have turned a blind eye to Gardenia's dealings, after all he could not fight the injustice in this far-off continent as well as in his own. Gardenia noticed the momentary pause and took advantage of it.

"I am right," He almost laughed. Holmes met his gaze but was far from amused.

"It makes no difference, you are responsible for the death of someone I cared a great deal about, you will not get away with it." He stood and gazed down at the cowering Gardenia, who looked up at him with fear.

"I promise you, you will pay."

Holmes' figure took on a startling appearance and his very form seemed to force Gardenia into silence. Watson stood also, but went unnoticed by the frightened man who did not even attempt to challenge Holmes' unspoken authority. Without a word Holmes threw on his coat and swept out of the room. Watson cast a brief, pitiful glance toward the cowardly figure shivering by the fire, then followed Holmes into the night.

After a while Gardenia stood and slowly walked over to his desk. He idly stacked papers and wrote memos to various people. He unlocked a drawer and took out a faded photograph. On it was a woman, a beautiful woman who was laughing. It was all her fault, she had sent the most dangerous man in London after him and he knew he could not escape, he had never seen such determination in a pair of eyes as he had seen in this mans and he was afraid. Slowly and without thoughts he pressed the photograph to his chest, he then took a pistol from the same drawer and with tear filled eyes shot the photograph, blood covered it and glass from its frame splintered into the dying man's skin. He laughed as he fell to the ground. He was glad, Holmes would not expect it, he knew he could not beat him and he wanted out, out of this filthy life that he had created for himself, away from those eyes that were the only thing in the world that had ever scared him. Gently and without feeling Gardenia slipped away.


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten. The Way Home**

Holmes stared into the dark street. Watson's slow breathing continued behind him. The room that had been their home for these past long months was beginning to take on its previous hotel room like state, their belongings having been gradually packed away ready for their departure the following evening. Holmes was restless, the heat in the room stifling his thoughts. He turned to look at his sleeping friend, not wanting to wake him he slipped quietly out of their room and down the hall to the lobby of the hotel A small man stopped him on his way, bowing politely,

"Something I may help you with Mr. Holmes?" He asked smiling.

"No thank you Bennett, I was just going for a quick walk."

"At this hour Mr. Holmes? It is very late."

"Yes, I realise that but I shan't be long."

"Very well sir. If you need anything.."

"Yes, yes." Holmes cut the man off waving his hand imperiously as he went. Bennett shook his head and smiled before turning away.

The cool air as opposed to the heat of his room was a shock to Holmes who wrapped his coat tighter around himself. He walked quickly, unsure of where he was going but feeling the need to be moving. Now the case was over and Gardenia had been punished, not in the way Holmes had wanted but at least he was dead. Holmes smiled at the thought, how he would have longed to be the one to have done it. Still, he must be thankful it was all over and he was. Irene had been revenged. He closed his eyes, this case, such as it was, had taken more from him than he had realised. He suddenly felt very old and very tired. He scanned the street for people, but it was deserted. Sighing he turned and returned to the hotel. He climbed the stairs to their room and paused outside. Stillness, he carefully opened the door and was shocked to find Watson seated before a freshly stoked fire with a tray of tea before him.

"Watson what on earth are you doing up at this hour?" Holmes said, removing his jacket and sitting opposite his friend.

"I thought you might like some tea." He smiled, handing Holmes a steaming cup which he took gratefully.

"Thank you but you really didn't have to deprive yourself of sleep just to furnish me with cups of tea."

"Well if I didn't you wouldn't do it yourself I dare say."

Holmes smiled and shook his head.

"No I dare say I wouldn't."

"Besides tea helps the nerves." Watson cast a glance at Holmes who returned it but remained silent.

"And I believe your nerves could do with all the help they can get."

Again Holmes nodded, his eyes lost in the fire.

Watson watched him for a while.

"I am sorry the outcome was not what you wanted Holmes."

"On the contrary Watson there could be no better outcome.."

"Holmes you cannot mean that you would have wished…"

"I wish Mr. Gardenia the warm fires of hell."

Watson raised an eyebrow and sighed.

"I am glad to be going home."

"As am I Watson, it will be good to be back in London again."

"Yes, maybe then we can get back to some sort of normalcy." Watson said, glancing knowingly at his friend.

"I fear Watson that things will never be quite so normal again." Taking his cup Holmes stormed off to the bedroom leaving Watson alone by the blaze, which he gazed into with fear.


	12. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Sherlock Holmes gazed out onto the passing ocean and sighed. It was over; the case that had nearly killed him was finally over. As he gazed, he longed to forget her. Everything she had been to him, everything she still was. He blinked out the warm sun and that was it, she was gone. You may think it strange that he could so easily forget a woman he had spent so long avenging, but then, who is to say what they really meant to each other. Maybe Irene was right, she was nothing more than a case, a brief infatuation that was now over. Holmes preferred the silence, and the solitary life. He could bear Watson because Watson made no demands of him, Irene wanted more, as every woman did and he could not give it. He was glad that justice had been done, but he was glad it was over. And somewhere deep in his heart, he was glad she was dead and could haunt him no more. Watson appeared at his elbow but he did not turn to face him.

"The air is cool tonight."

Holmes nodded, Watson laid a hand on his arm, mistaking his silence for grief, little did he know that Sherlock Holmes was even more guarded now than he had ever been before. No one would break his heart, or force him to reveal emotion again. The weakness was too much. The loss of control too great a risk. As Watson moved away Holmes contemplated throwing himself into the ocean, so lost was he in his thoughts, so desperate to be home. The fading sunlight glittered on the waves as the day turned slowly to night, still he gazed and still he thought until eventually rationality persuaded him to preserve his life and sleep. He turned from the railing and walked slowly to his cabin to join an already sleeping Watson, as he lay back in the darkness Holmes let one solitary tear slip down his aging cheek and sighed. It was over, the nightmare was finally over and it would never, not in his lifetime, ever be allowed to happen again.


End file.
